Cooking from the Soul
by Lilas
Summary: When it came time to pack his bag for Uganda, Kevin Price decided to bring with him the one thing from home that he knew would help him get through the next two years. But then the General stole it, and now that he's been driven out of village, Kevin wants it back.


AN: Originally this fic was supposed to be a short and cute fic about Kevin and how he likes to cook. Yeah, not so much. Clearly I had _feelings_ that had to be put down into words and ended up with this. I hope I did all these characters justice. I have never experienced anything like what Kevin went through with the General, nor do I have any experience in psychological matters, but I tried to be as realistic as possible. Please take heed of the warnings below for triggers.

Thank you to strengthsbasedmediocrity and EatingPeaches for inadvertently inspiring this fic. Go read their fics because they are amazing. Though I suppose I should take full responsibility if this one sucks. This is unbetaed, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

Triggers: Allusion to rape (shoving a bible up someone's butt the way it happened to Kevin is rape), panic attacks, slight depression.

Pairing: McPriceley if you squint and look sideways (one day I will write a blatantly McPriceley fic. Today is not that day).

* * *

Kevin Price didn't like to brag—Hah! Yes, yes he did. He loved to brag and usually for good reason—but he was a damn fine cook. Cooking had come as naturally to him as breathing. One of his first memories was standing on top of a chair by his mother's side as they made dinner. She'd handed him a huge wooden spoon—it really hadn't been that big of a spoon, but when you're four, holding a normal sized wood spatula felt like handling a giant's tool—and told him to help her stir the tomato sauce. He'd watched the liquid bubble and pop as she let him put in the basil and the bay leaf, helped him shake some salt, pepper, and sugar into the mix, and simply stirred, smelling the subtle scent of what he'd later come to associate with warmth and happiness.

Cooking was his sacred time with his mother. None of his other siblings had ever shown any inclination for the craft and he was secretly glad for it. He loved his mother unconditionally and to be able to spend time with her in the kitchen let him reaffirm and strengthen the bond he had with her. They would usually hole up together in the afternoon after school, and every day she would have a new recipe to teach him. She showed him how to caramelize onions, how to bake the perfect blueberry pie, how much force to put into kneading the bread dough, how to grill a perfect steak. She taught him that cooking came from the heart, not the head, and that as long as you had a sharp knife, all you needed was a bit of imagination and the sky was the limit.

So when the time came to pack his bag for his mission to Uganda, even though he'd known he probably shouldn't bring it with him, he couldn't help himself. He'd packed the binder with his favorite recipes and hidden it at the bottom of his suitcase under his missionary clothes and his various copies of The Book of Mormon. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to make any of the recipes in it, but it wasn't about that. It was about taking a piece of home with him, some comfort in a foreign land. It was about having something tangible that would remind him of what he'd left behind. And also, maybe, he hoped he might get a chance to add a few pages of exotic cuisine in his repertoire to bring home with him. Though, to be honest, that last one seemed very unlikely to him.

So when they'd arrived at the village and the General and his thugs had taken their things, he hadn't been able to help himself from trying to stop them. Of course, the guns to his face had been a pretty good deterrent, and he'd felt his heart sink as he'd watched the men walk away with their bags, with his cook book. He hadn't been thinking about his clothes or the copies of The Book he'd packed when he'd told Mafala that a lot of important things were in those suitcases, but of the recipes hidden and protected beneath those things.

After that, things had been too hectic for him to even think about lost luggage and the cook book. It was only days later—after The Book incident, and the doctor's office, and possibly being kicked out of the Church, and finding the strength to confront the General and drive him out of town—it was only after all of that, and he was lying on his uncomfortable missionary bed, curled up and hugging his pillow to his chest, that he remembered. Everything still hurt—his butt, his back, his legs, his chest, his pride—but for the first time since he'd stepped out of the plane, he could feel a small glimmer of hope. Maybe now he could walk back into the General's camp and get his stuff back. Maybe he could get back the one thing he'd brought that reminded him of home, and love, and comfort.

That small seed was all he'd needed to push himself upright and, very slowly, make his way to the living room. He paused at the entrance of the room, watching the other Elders in confusion. They were all gathered around the rickety dinner table, leaning forward and whispering furiously amongst each other. All except Arnold, who knew that he couldn't keep his voice below blaring volume even if he'd wanted to; and so, for the first time since Kevin had known him, the other boy wasn't saying anything.

He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but he was curious. Why would they be whispering like that when everyone was gathered together in the same room? Clearly they were talking about something they didn't want to be overheard, but who was there to overhear them when—Oh. He could feel his shoulders slump and his face scrunch up into a frown. They were talking about him. And from the looks of them, it couldn't be anything good either. Idly, he wondered what personality flaw they were dissecting and how long they'd been at it. Well, he reasoned, whatever it was there was nothing he could do about it, so he might as well break up their little party.

He coughed softly from the doorway and watched, fascinated, as every head as one looked up. A silence fell over the room and Kevin couldn't help his incredulous stare as every single face before him flushed in embarrassment. Before he could think about it too much, he let his mouth shape up into his best grin.

"Hey guys," he chippered, as he once again pushed down the pain, and walked as casually as possible into the living room. He flipped the only empty chair around so he could straddle it as he took a seat between Arnold and Elder McKinley. "What's up? We having a group meeting?"

"Hi, Bestie!" Arnold very nearly screeched into his ear. It made Kevin smile.

"Elder Price!" Elder McKinley stammered, a small, pink flush working its way up his neck. "I… Yes. Sorry. We went to get you, in your room, but you looked like you were asleep and I figured we could let you know afterwards…"

Kevin didn't believe that for one second. The guilty looks all around him made it very clear that this meeting was about him and that no one had gone to check on him to ask him to participate. Well, he amended, that's not true. Someone, likely Elder McKinley, had probably come to check on him, but only to make sure he was asleep so they could hold their meeting uninterrupted.

"Well," he said before his thoughts could get the best of him. "I'm here now. So, what's up?"

"Oh… We…" If possible, Elder McKinley turned a deeper shade of red.

"We were wondering if you were okay," Arnold finished for him, unabashed. Trust Arnold to forge where no man dared.

Kevin could feel his gut tightening and a sharp, fiery stab of pain travel through him from his lower back all the way down to his toes even as all the color drained from his face. "What—" he cleared his throat when his voice came out an octave higher than it should. "What do you mean, am I okay? Why—why wouldn't I be?"

He cast his eyes around the table of Elders and squirmed, trying his best to push out the General's face from his mind. The other Elders looked at one another awkwardly while Arnold stared at him unwaveringly. As much as he liked Arnold, and was slowly but surely coming to consider him one of the best friends he'd ever had, he wished he weren't so single-minded. He felt his hands clenching around the frame of the chair and berated his decision to straddle it; for some reason he felt more exposed, sitting like this.

"It's just that you haven't really left the house in a while," Arnold finally answered for the others. "Ever since we confronted the General and drove him off, you've only really hung around here, and you've hardly been to the village."

"That's not true," Kevin countered, wracking his memory for something to refute that claim. "We went to visit Nabulungi the other day. We were out all day."

"Yeah, sure," Arnold conceded. "But that was, like, the first time you left the house. And you haven't gone back since."

Kevin clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, forcing it out slowly through his nose and deliberately loosening his hands and plastering on a smile. "I've just been a little tired, that's all."

It sounded lame even to him and he could see Arnold's eyebrows shoot up. He wasn't buying it. "I don't know how you're not tired, Arnold." _Deflect, deflect, deflect_. "I mean, since we got here, we were shot at, and threatened, and you made up a brand new religion. We, I mean, you guys," he waved his hand haphazardly toward the group of men around him, "converted a whole village into said new religion, and then we got kicked out of our Church! Well, sort of." He shrugged. "I've been catching up on lost sleep."

Arnold stared at him for a few seconds before he leaned far into Kevin's personal space. "You've been talking in your sleep."

Oh shit.

"What?"

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, _oh shit_! He knew he did that every once in a while but he'd never had to worry about other people being able to _hear him_ before. It'd started when he'd been five after his first gosh darn spooky Mormon hell dream; it was a stress induced habit.

Hopefully he wouldn't graduate to sleep walking. He remembered the first time he'd woken up in the middle of the night in the kitchen, holding a glass of milk with no idea how he had even gotten there. He'd had a small freak out, screaming and scaring himself in the process, and accidentally letting go of the glass, wincing a second later when it'd shattered all over the floor. His parents, light sleepers after having raised three kids, had heard him and come rushing down the stairs only to find him backed up into the corner of the kitchen under the sink, milk and shards of glass all around him.

His mother had given his father one very pointed look and he'd gone and returned with a mop and a broom, cleaning up the mess as his mother watched from the kitchen doorway with an unreadable expression on her face. As soon as the floor was clean, she had stepped up to him and crouched down in front of him, her face gentle with a hard edge to it that he'd later come to associate with her "I will fix this" face. She'd slowly reached forward and pried his clenched fingers from his hair (when had he gripped it?) and smoothed her fingers over his wet cheeks (when had he started crying?).

"Kevin, honey, shh," she'd whispered as she'd run her fingers through his sweaty hair. "It's okay, baby. It's only spilled milk." He'd shaken his head. "Come on, honey," she'd continued, gently pulling at him. "You can come sleep in our room for the rest of the night. Come on." He let himself be pulled up into her arms, automatically wrapping his arms and legs around her like an octopus and burying his face in the crook of her neck. "We'll talk about it in the morning. We'll fix this. I promise." He'd nodded and slowly relaxed, finally feeling safe in his mother's arms.

And like she'd promised, they'd talked about it. Sort of. His parents had admitted that this hadn't been the first time he'd sleep walked. That, as far they'd known, he'd been doing it for at least a couple of months but he'd never woken up from it before. He'd wandered to their room a couple of times and woken them up to tell them some inane blather about something that had happened at school or Church, and then had gone back to bed. They'd told him that it was okay, that he'd never done anything or said anything bad, and that there was nothing to it. It would go away on its own. There was no need to tell anyone else.

He hadn't really believed them, but what else was he supposed to do? After that, he'd started locking his door at night and putting the key away, petrified he'd somehow walk out of the house and do something stupid in the process. His parents thought the scare from waking up in the kitchen had cured him, but he knew better. Over the years he had repeatedly gone to bed at night only to wake up at his desk, on the floor under his window, or, on one memorable occasion he would much rather forget and which had given him night terrors for days to come, on the roof part of the house outside his bedroom window. Thankfully he had only been lying there, and not standing at the edge. He'd woken up as the sun had begun to rise and for a long time all he had been able do was stare at the lightening sky, heart beating erratically in his chest and body drenched in cold sweat, wondering what his unconscious mind had been thinking to take him where he could have so easily fallen off the roof and to his death.

With time the sleep walking, and he assumed the sleep talking as well, had stopped. It had been years since anything had happened. And now he was talking in his sleep again.

"What—" he licked his lips nervously. "What have I been saying?"

Arnold shrugged. "I don't know. You just mostly mumble things. Something about a book, and the General."

Kevin felt his breath freeze in his chest and his hands once again involuntarily clench around the chair frame. He knew that if he hadn't already been sitting, he would have crumbled to the floor. Only a handful of people knew what had happened to him when he'd stupidly decided to storm the General's camp with his ill-conceived idea of converting him to Mormonism so he would leave the villagers alone. And he knew that unless the General somehow got close enough to the village to tell everyone else, Gotswana would keep his mouth shut. He'd promised Kevin he would, after he'd had his laugh at his expense over his… rectal blockage. So now Kevin would just have to make sure to somehow not let his big mouth blather it out at night while he was asleep.

"Oh…" he forced his hands to unclench from the chair again, and deliberately inhaled quietly through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it back into place and pulled at his shirt to flatten out any wrinkles. All nervous habits he'd picked up along the way that he just couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried. Thankfully it'd just made him look like a conceited asshole instead of a nervous wreck, and he'd gotten really good at playing that part.

"Elder Price?" Elder McKinley asked him as he leaned forward a little to look at him better. "Is there anything we can do?"

"I'm fine, Elders. Like I said, it's been a crazy few days and I've just been catching up on sleep." He grinned at them.

"Well, that's good," Arnold smiled, leaning back against his chair. "Though, I am curious what you were dreaming about that has the General in it! That must have been a scary dream."

"Well," Kevin started, thinking back to the thought he'd had in his room that had pushed him to come out to the living room in the first place. "I think I was dreaming about our stuff."

"Our stuff?" Arnold asked, his face contorting into a hilarious expression of confusion.

Kevin smiled. "Yeah, you know? Remember how they took our stuff when we first got here? How they took our suitcases?"

"Oh yeah. That really sucked," Arnold commiserated.

"I was thinking just now how, since we drove them out of the village, maybe they've moved away from the camp. Maybe we might be able to sneak in there and take our stuff back."

"Woah, wait a minute, Elder Price," Elder Neeley jumped in, hands spread out in front of him. "That's… That's a pretty big assumption to make. I mean, what if the General is still there?"

"Just barging in there would be a horrible idea! Who knows what he'd do to us!" Elder Thomas chimed in.

"No, no, I know," Kevin said before any other Elder could voice their doubts. "But maybe someone in the village would know if he's gone? If he's moved out of his compound?"

Elder McKinley scrunched up his nose and Kevin blinked at him stupidly. Huh, he'd never noticed how cute that expression could be. _Yeah, now was not the time for this_ , Kevin thought firmly. _Shove that thought to the side and come back to it later_.

"Even if he has, there's no way to know that he wouldn't come back. I don't know if a few trinkets would be worth tempting fate like that, Elder Price," Elder McKinley ventured.

Kevin sighed. "Look, I know you guys had your suitcases stolen too when you first got here. Don't you want your things back?" He watched as the other Elders squirmed uncomfortably. "Of course you do! We all brought something special from home to help us through our mission, and now is the best chance we have to get it back! So why shouldn't we at least try?"

He looked around the table and was happy to see a few heads nodding along. Good, he'd succeeded in thoroughly distracting them from wondering what was wrong with him. Now to convince them to sneak into the General's camp to get their stuff back. He wasn't sure he'd be able to go back, not after what had happened to him there the last time, but now wasn't the time to think about it. He'd cross that bridge if he ever got there.

"I don't know…" Elder McKinley mumbled.

"We could ask Nutella to help us," Arnold piped in.

"Nabulungi," Kevin corrected automatically. By this point, he knew Nabulungi was too head over heels in love with Arnold to care what he called her, but Kevin still had hopes that if he kept correcting Arnold, one day the name would eventually stick.

"Yeah, yeah. We could ask her if she knows anyone who knows where the General is now," Arnold continued. "And if anyone knows whether our stuff is even there. It'd be kind of dumb to sneak in there all Tom Cruise, Mission Impossible style, only for our stuff to not be there."

"That's a good point," Elder Michaels nodded.

"Great, so we can go talk to her in the morning," Kevin smiled.

"Now hold on, Elder Price. Maybe we should think about this some more," Elder McKinley interrupted.

"Look, Elder McKinley," Kevin sighed. "All we're doing for now is asking Nabulungi if she can tell us whether the General has moved on. We can talk about it some more after we have more information."

"Yeah, it's only intel gathering at this point!" Arnold was nearly bouncing off his seat in his excitement at the idea of playing spy.

"And it would be nice to have my stuff back…" Elder Thomas said shyly. "I had some pictures from home and… I'd really like those back."

Kevin knew he'd won this round when Elder McKinley gave a deep sigh, the hands in his hair slowly massaging his head.

"All right, fine. Elder Price and I will talk to Mafala and Nabulungi tomorrow. And then we'll talk about it some more before sneaking in there." At that, he glared at Kevin and Arnold specifically.

Kevin would have felt insulted at that glare if he hadn't known that it was totally deserved. If he could know for certain that he wouldn't freak out if he marched back into that camp, it was entirely possible that he would convince Arnold to go back there to get their stuff as soon as he knew that the General and his gang were gone. Instead he only shrugged his agreement in reply.

The next morning found Kevin and Elder McKinley making their way from the missionary house down to the village. The journey wasn't long, and it could be pretty pleasant depending on the weather, but today Kevin was in no mood to be gracious. Like all the other nights for the past few days, he'd had a hard time falling and staying asleep. He'd woken up three or four times in the middle of the night, jolted awake by nightmares of the General and his soldiers and what they had done to him. Every awakening had had his heart racing a mile a minute and his body drenched in cold sweat. He'd never thought he'd see the day when he'd miss having a spooky Mormon hell dream. At least with those dreams he felt like he might actually get some rest. As it was, the sleepless nights had made him jumpy, startled by the smallest noises and frightened by lightest shadows. He felt like he was moving underwater, weighted down by fatigue and his mind fraying at the edges. At this point, he'd do anything to have a nightmare about maple glazed doughnuts, Starbucks coffee, and Elder McKinley going down on Hitler.

At that last thought he felt his cheeks burning up and he looked up to glare at Elder McKinley's back. He wondered if the other man realized how alike the two of them were to one another. Kevin wasn't stupid—quite the opposite actually, thank-you-very-much—and he hadn't been kidding when he'd told Arnold in a fit of rage and despair that he'd kept on studying The Book and the rules even when he knew— _he knew_ —that everything he read was complete bullpoop. At the time, he'd only done what he'd been told to do so he could get to Planet Orlando in the afterlife. It had been the shiny light at the end of the tunnel of hypocrisy and stupidity that had surrounded him. But even as he'd done what he'd been told, and even as he'd tried—and succeeded—to be the best, he hadn't felt blessed. He hadn't felt smart or deserving. He'd felt… wrong. He'd felt like a liar.

But now he felt unburdened. He felt like he could finally be himself, and say what he wanted, and let himself feel and follow his own set of rules and beliefs. He wasn't tied down to the Church's strict teachings and decrees anymore. He could be his own person. With a little guilty jolt he recalled that first night in Uganda—what felt like a lifetime ago now—when he'd tried to reassure Elder McKinley that it was okay to have gay thoughts just so long as you never acted on them. At the time, when he'd still been trying and pretending that the Church and its scriptures made any kind of sense, he'd believed that. He'd believed that for years: if you feel it but don't act on it, then it was fine; after all, no one was perfect.

Now, he could finally admit to himself that he was tired of pretending, tired of "turning it off" as the other Elders so aptly put it. He hadn't been lying when he'd denied having gay thoughts; he just hadn't been entirely truthful either. He hadn't been having gay thoughts _at that particular moment_. But Kevin had always known who he was even if, more often than not, he'd buried it so deep he'd sometimes forget. And he'd never felt guilty for being the way he was; it's not like he could change it. Besides, the scripture was just a book written by a sociopath who'd wanted a bunch of desperate idiots to give him money and follow him on a wild journey to the West. It was full of bullpoop that didn't make any sense half of the time. God telling some old white guy to dig under a tree in his backyard for a mysterious set of gold plates that was supposed to be part three of the Bible? Arnold had put it best when he'd said that that made _perfect_ sense.

"You should take a picture, it'll last longer."

Kevin startled at the voice and stopped dead in his tracks, blinking like a deer caught in headlights.

"What?"

"You've been staring at my back for five minutes. I can feel it," Elder McKinley replied, stopping as well and turning around to look at Kevin.

"Oh… Sorry, Elder McKinley." Kevin doubted he would have been able to stop the blush even if he'd tried.

"Look, Kevin," Elder McKinley started and then paused. "You mind if I call you Kevin? Seems kind of silly to keep calling you Elder Price, now that we're not really a part of the Church's mission anymore."

Kevin shrugged. "Sure, that's fine. But," he paused, feeling absolutely silly for having to even ask this, "What's your first name?"

Elder McKinley looked at him dumbly for a few seconds before his entire face turned tomato red from the tip of his hair all the way down to his neck. "Right, yes. Of course you wouldn't know. Connor. You can call me Connor."

Kevin grinned and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you, Connor. I'm Kevin."

Connor stared at him before slowly extending his hand and shaking it. "You're…"

"Yeah," Kevin smirked, squeezing Connor's hand for a second, before freeing it and shoving his hands in his pockets. "I get that a lot."

"You're not what I expected," Connor finished.

"Am I better?" Kevin asked, genuinely curious.

He'd gotten so used to being around the people in his town, who had all known him since he was a baby and who all thought they knew him, that having the chance to make an impression and be judged for who he was felt exhilarating. Of course, who he was and who he portrayed to be weren't exactly the same person, but maybe now they could be. After all, that was the whole point of going rogue, right?

"I don't know yet," Connor replied, a smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you'd be the first one out of here and on your way to Orlando after the President tried to shut us down."

Kevin shrugged and smiled stupidly. "I couldn't leave my mission companion by himself, now could I?"

"And I certainly didn't expect you to stand up to the General and drive him out of the village," Connor continued, his smile widening at the memory.

Kevin could feel the blood draining from his face and his body breaking out into a cold sweat at the memory, small tremors running up and down his back as he remembered the utter terror he'd felt in that moment of stupid bravery. He swallowed down the bile that had risen up his throat, and automatically slicked back his hair back and tugged down his shirt to smooth it out with slightly shaking hands. He started walking down the path again, passing by Connor even as he could feel the corners of his mouth trying to form into a small smile.

"Yep," he chirped as cheerfully fake as he could make it. "That's me. Full of surprises."

Kevin jumped nearly a foot and jerked away as he felt a hand close over his arm. He felt something deep within him snap in half. He whirled around and recoiled. "Don't touch me!" he screamed before he could stop himself.

Connor's eyes widened and he took a step back, both hands going up in the hopes of showing that he meant no harm. "Kevin?"

"Sorry," Kevin mumbled, eyes to the ground as he took a couple of steps back. Instinctively he brought his arms up and hugged himself even as he could feel his carefully crafted control slipping away.

"Kevin?" Connor tried again, taking one small step toward the other man. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything's fine. Nothing's wrong." Kevin could feel an uncontrollable panic rising within him, and he couldn't stop the small laugh that escaped his lips even as it felt like shards of glass coming out.

"That's not nothing," Connor pressed, taking another step forward.

"It _is_ nothing. It's absolutely _nothing_!" Kevin shouted, hands hugging himself more tightly.

He looked up at Connor but quickly averted his eyes again when the blue eyes widened at his expression. He had no idea what he looked like but he could guess. He felt a mess: his shirt was wet with cold sweat and his skin felt clammy. He couldn't stop the shivers or the rapid breathing that wheezed through his lungs. Without meaning to, he slowly lowered himself to the ground, curling up into a small ball to let his forehead rest on the dry, cracked earth.

He felt a hand on his shoulder blade and flinched violently. The hand slowly moved up and down his back in a small circle, pressing gently into his spine. A second hand joined the first, soft fingers starting at the nape of his neck and racking his hair from the base of his skull up to the top, fingernails scratching his scalp and applying just the right amount of pressure. Little by little, Kevin could feel his body unclenching and he blinked his eyes open, surprised at the tears he could feel drying on his cheeks. He could still feel small tremors running up and town his body, but those were also almost gone. He heard a small, whining, wheezing noise coming from nearby and, with a dawning sense of horror, he realized it was coming from him.

"Shh, no no, it's okay Kevin," he heard Connor murmur from next to him as the fingers clenched his hair, pressing at his head just right. "It's okay. Come on, now. You're fine. Shh," Connor continued even as Kevin felt his breathing shudder and catch on a small sob. "It's fine, Kevin, you're fine."

Kevin chocked on a laugh at that. He was so far from fine he'd be closer to the moon at this point. He could feel his chuckles reverberate in his chest and tensed up again as he thought about how insane he must seem to Connor. He felt the hand on his back grip his shirt and he forced himself to calm down, to think of nothing but the hands petting him. He had to stop, if not for himself, then for Connor, who most certainly did not deserve to be dealing with Kevin's emotional and mental breakdown. Slowly, very slowly, he felt himself relax again and breathed in through this nose and out his mouth, forcing his heart to calm down and his lungs to breathe normally. He felt Connor's hands on his shoulders and let himself be lifted up off the ground a few inches so his upper body was resting on Connor's lap.

Oh. That was much better.

"Kevin?" Connor whispered, afraid that anything he might say or do would send Kevin over the edge again.

"Sorry," Kevin mumbled, burying his head deeper into Connor's lap. "Sorry." The hands were back in his hair and Kevin felt himself relax even more into the massage.

"It's okay." There was a beat of silence before one hand pulled at a few strands of hair, slowly massaging the scalp after the gesture only to do it again. "You want to maybe tell me what that was about?"

Kevin shook his head.

"Kevin…" Connor sighed. "You're really scaring me." A pause. "Please?"

"I… I can't…" Kevin chocked out.

"Okay, okay…" The hands moved from Kevin's scalp to the base of his neck, blunt nails digging into tense muscles and kneading them. "Does…" Connor paused again and Kevin could feel him taking a deep breath. "Does it have something to do with the General?"

Kevin whimpered unintentionally and tried to burrow himself further into Connor's lap. He clenched his eyes shut and nodded his head once. He didn't want to talk about it, _couldn't_ talk about it, but the nightmares and the constant state of fear he'd been in since the incident had worn him down and he just wanted someone to know. He just wanted someone to know that he wasn't okay, that he needed help, that he needed _something_ , even if he didn't know what that something was.

He heard Connor suck in a sharp breath and felt a sting in his scalp that came from fingers involuntarily clenching his hair.

"Can… Can you tell me what happened?"

Kevin shook his head frantically even as he tried to stop a sob from escaping him.

"Okay, that's okay," Connor murmured, his fingers back to petting Kevin's hair gently. "You don't have to tell me." There was a moment of silence. "Did whatever it was happen after you ran off? After you told us not to worry and that the village was going to be saved?"

"So stupid!" Kevin cried out between sobs, his hands clenching his forearms with more force as he tried in vain to hold the pieces of himself together.

"Kevin, Kevin, shh," Connor tried to soothe him, not thinking about anything other than the man currently curled up around himself and sobbing in his lap. He could feel the body beneath his hands shaking uncontrollably as his own terror at what could have happened grew exponentially.

He and the other Elders had been worried for days that something had happened to Elder Price. He'd been acting very differently from when he had first arrived in Uganda. Connor had first started to suspect that something was awry after Elder Cunningham had mentioned that he'd thought Kevin was going to be more fun after he'd so clearly decided to forgo the rules and binge drink coffee, but that so far he'd been the exact opposite. After some questioning, Connor had gotten as much of the story out of him as possible—how he'd found Kevin at a little run down shop drinking giant cups of espresso, his hair disheveled, his shirt untucked, his speech erratic. He'd mentioned how the other Mormon had held himself stiffly and had been limping as he'd paced about and told Arnold not to speak to him or touch him. How he'd practically yelled out and smacked Elder Cunningham after he'd agreed to pretend they were still companions in front of the Mission President.

After that Connor had started paying more attention. He'd noticed that Kevin was always the first one up and about, even before Connor and he was always up by five-thirty. By the time the other Elders had stumbled out of their rooms, Elder Price would have a veritable table spread ready for them with whatever supplies they had managed to get from the market. And even as everyone had filed out of the house to go help in the village or proselytize, Elder Price always had a perfectly good excuse to stay at the mission house: the sink needed to be fixed, the laundry had to be done, the roof needed to be repaired, the rooms needed to be swept. All things that were true, and none of which anyone questioned because no one wanted to do them.

But that also meant that Kevin never went very far from the house. And Connor wasn't the only one who had noticed this. Mafala and Nabulungi had both approached him to ask about the missing Elder. They were both worried that he was sick, but that none of the Elders had thought to tell them or the village doctor about it. After all, the last time they'd really seen Elder Price had been when he'd stormed up with Elder Cunningham and they had threatened the General that Elder Cunningham would command the Angel Moroni from the Death Star to unleash the Kraken to launch Joseph Smith torpedoes from the mouth of Christ and turn the General into a lesbian—Connor had to admit that even now, days later, he still had trouble believing that not only had the pair of them done and said that, but that it had actually _worked_.

Connor had had nothing to say to them except that Elder Price wasn't sick—as far as he knew—but that he'd been busy helping around the missionary house. Nabulungi had seemed relieved at that and had asked him to please tell Elder Price hello from her and ask him to pass by the village soon. Connor had smiled and nodded his acquiescence. He'd been about to start back on his way to Sister Kimbe's hut when he'd noticed that Mafala hadn't moved. Connor had frowned lightly as he'd watched the older man. Mafala's forehead had been wrinkled into deep frown lines and his lips had tightened at the corners. That was not the look of a man who had heard good news.

"Mafala? What is it?" he'd asked, his own worries suddenly rearing up again.

"Are you sure he's not sick?" Connor had nodded. "He does not have a fever and he is moving about easily?" Connor's frown had deepened, but again, he'd nodded. Mafala had hummed at his response.

"Mafala, is there something I should know about Elder Price?" Connor had prodded, his heart suddenly beating a mile a minute. After a few seconds of excruciating silence, Connor had placed a hand on Mafala's bicep to gain his attention. "Mafala?"

"Hm?" Mafala had blinked and focused back on the white boy in front of him. "Oh. No, no," he'd dismissed Connor's worry with a wave of his hand. "Everything is fine, Elder McKinley. I'm glad Elder Price is well." He'd smiled then, but Connor's worries were far from appeased—he could spot a forced smile a mile away. "But please let us know if anything were to happen, yes? We have a lot to be thankful for because of him."

"Oh, sure," Connor had agreed, his own smile long gone and instead replaced by inexplicable worry.

He'd returned later that day and relayed Nabulungi's message to Elder Price, who had looked genuinely contrived that he had caused the young woman to worry. The next day, he'd still been up before everyone else, and the whole table had still held a veritable smorgasbord, but as everyone else had left the house, Connor had watched, concealed behind a tree, as Elder Price had lingered by the door to the mission house. He'd stood there, one hand clutched around the door frame and the other clenched into a fist by his side for a stretch of eternity, before he'd taken one shaky step after another all the way down the dirt path, past the tree Connor hid behind, and out of sight as he'd headed toward the village.

By the time Connor had come back to the house, most of the other Elders were lounging around the living room, but Elder Price and Elder Cunningham had still been gone. They hadn't returned until just before sunset, Elder Price pink from his sunburn and Elder Cunningham practically yellow from the dirt and dust. Connor had noticed that despite the small smile and crinkles around his eyes, Elder Price had still looked tense, like he'd been waiting a long time for bad news that wouldn't come. And Connor had thought about Mafala's worried frown and wondered what it was that the older man knew that he wasn't telling Connor or the other Elders.

And now, looking at Kevin's shaking back and listening to his muffled whimpers, Connor had a feeling that he'd finally find out, except that he wasn't so sure he was ready to know. He moved the hands pressed against the white fabric of Kevin's shirt up and down his back, fingers digging into tense muscles and drawing tiny circles he hoped brought some small comfort to the other man. For a few more moments, Connor didn't think about anything. He stared down the length of the dirt road in silence as the tremors beneath his hands slowly subsided. He needed to get Kevin moving; get the two of them out of the road and some place safer. He needed to get them to Mafala. He knew, instinctively, that the older man had known something like this might happen.

He placed his hand on Kevin's hair and leaned forward until he was partially sheltering him with his own body. "Kevin?" he whispered. "Can you stand? We need to move." He felt Kevin breathe in deeply before he nodded as he slowly exhaled.

Without speaking, Connor moved his hands under Kevin's arms and slowly lifted the two of them back up. He couldn't help the small stumble backwards as Kevin leaned heavily against him, his face buried in the crook of his neck. Connor grabbed his wrist and looped it around his shoulders, his other hand automatically finding Kevin's waist and hoisting him up a little so he could keep his face hidden. Walking like this would be extremely awkward and slow going, but Connor didn't have the heart to say anything. He took a couple steps forward and was glad when Kevin followed his lead. At least they were up and moving; it was more than he had thought possible just a few minutes ago.

It took them three times as long to get to the village. The journey had been made in silence, shattered only an occasional broken whimper and hiccup. Connor had kept them going in spite of his need to stop and check on Kevin as he'd felt the collar of his shirt dampen with sweat and tears. By the time Connor spotted Mafala's house, the two boys were drenched with sweat and covered in dirt. Connor was parched and he could feel his muscles trembling from the effort of dragging Kevin along with him. With a final heave, he pulled Kevin up to the door and knocked, praying that Mafala was home and that Nabulungi was out.

He tensed briefly as the door opened and felt a rush of gratitude when he saw Mafala on the other side.

"Elder McKinley?" the man asked, confused. Connor watched as Mafala inhaled sharply in understanding as he took in Connor's sweaty and dirty face and Kevin's trembling body. "Come, come," he gestured as he flung the door open and moved aside to let Connor in.

"Thanks," Connor rasped out, walking to the small and beaten up couch, and slowly lowering Kevin down. He watched worriedly as Kevin rolled up into a small ball as soon as he was freed from Connor's hold, his face shoved up against the cushions. "Kevin, please," Connor begged as he placed a hand on Kevin's shoulder and pulled him slightly. "You'll suffocate like this."

Kevin only whimpered in response.

"What happened to him?" Connor asked, blue eyes trained on the village leader.

"Shouldn't I be asking you this?" Mafala countered, his expression inscrutable.

"You knew this might happen," Connor accused him. "You just about told me so the other day. You kept asking me if Kevin was sick, if he was okay, to come and get you if anything happened." Connor could feel his panic taking over and he thought that maybe now he could finally turn it on. " _You knew_!" he hissed, still mindful of the shivering and silent man next to him.

Mafala looked at the two white boys, both of them in a different state of panic but equally scared and lost. He couldn't help the guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he stubbornly told himself there was nothing he could have done before now. He had hoped, almost desperately so, that Elder Price would have been spared this trauma. He should have known better. God had never been merciful before; there was no reason this time would be any different. _Hasa diga Ebowaii_.

"It is not my story to tell," Mafala said, hoping to delay the inevitable.

"Oh don't you even—No," Connor countered, his voice turning to ice as it dropped to a dangerously low octave. Mafala absently noticed how his hands unconsciously rubbed small, gentle circles into Elder Price's shoulders even as his eyes blazed with barely restrained fury. "Tell me."

Mafala took two small steps toward the couch and silently sat upon the floor to face Elder McKinley, his face set into a defiant scowl. The expression was in such contrast to his usual demeanor that Connor nearly let go of his own anger in his surprise. When he spoke however, Mafala's voice was as soft and kind as when he spoke about his daughter.

"Elder Price." He waited a few moments before trying again. "Elder Price, please allow me to speak for you."

Connor and Mafala both stared at one another, waiting for an answer they could not be sure would come. The sound of rustling cotton and the shifting of bundled muscles beneath his hand startled Connor into looking back at his friend. He watched as red-rimmed brown eyes beneath sweat slicked hair studied Mafala wearily.

"Gotswana—"

"Told me," Mafala finished for him.

"But…" Kevin hesitated, teeth worrying his bottom lip. "He promised."

"And he kept his promise; he told no one else. But as the leader of this village, it is my duty to care and protect every person here, Elder Price. And this includes all you boys."

"He said no one would know," Kevin repeated, clearly becoming distraught. "He…"

Connor watched as Kevin's expression changed from panicked, to betrayed, to angered, and then to… nothing. It was as if a curtain had fallen, an almost blank look coming over his eyes. Without thinking about it, Connor reached out to him and gripped his hand, squeezing it tightly. When Kevin blinked rapidly at the pressure, almost as if he were coming out of trance, and focused down at their joined hands, Connor let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

"He what, Kevin?" Connor prompted, squeezing his hand again.

"He…" Kevin's lips pressed together, becoming bloodless. Connor squeezed his hand again. "He laughed at me," Kevin finally confessed in a small whisper, eyes downcast as if he were revealing a horrible sin. "He laughed and said he'd never seen anything like it. He said…" This time Connor felt his own hand being squeezed into a tight grip. "He said it was something incredible that blew his freaking mind," Kevin laughed bitterly, fresh tears mixing with his sweat.

Connor felt him move and instinctively tightened his hold on Kevin's hand even as the other man tried to wrench it free in his bid to turn back around and bury his face in the couch cushions. Connor pressed his lips together and frowned. No. He wasn't going to let Kevin do that again; he wasn't going to let Kevin pull away and try to deal with this, whatever _this_ was, by himself. He'd been doing that for days and look at where it had gotten them. Enough, now. _Enough_.

Connor pulled at the hand still gripped in his, effectively stopping Kevin from hiding again. Instead, he manhandled him until there was enough space on the couch for the redhead to plump down on the vacated spot. Before he could so much as blink, Kevin felt his arm wrenched sideways and he suddenly found himself sprawled over Connor's lap, his face pressed against a dirty white shirt as a strong pair of arms held him tightly.

"Kevin, please," Connor whispered in his ear, low enough that Kevin knew Mafala wouldn't be able to hear. "Please tell me. Please let me help you. _Please_."

Kevin shut his eyes, trying and failing to block our Connor's desperate voice. He was so tried. He couldn't do this by himself anymore. He'd tried; he'd tried _so hard_. But it wasn't working. And if Arnold had managed to teach him anything since they'd gotten here, it was that family stuck together; and Connor, along with the other missionaries and the people of this village, incredibly, miraculously, _unbelievably_ , had become family. He could trust them. He _had_ to trust them. He didn't have a choice; he needed help putting the pieces of himself back together again.

He glanced over his shoulder at Mafala's calm face. _Mafala had known_ , Kevin suddenly realized. He had known maybe since the day it'd happened. And yet, he'd kept quiet. He hadn't confronted Kevin when he'd hidden away at the missionary house, and he hadn't told any of the other missionaries, not even Arnold. But most importantly, he hadn't told Nabulungi. He'd waited until now, until he could get Kevin's permission, before saying anything. And Kevin knew without a shred of doubt that if he said no, if he told Mafala not to tell, not to speak, to take this secret to the grave, that the man would do his bidding and keep his silence. And that loyalty, that understanding, that _respect_ , it mended something in Kevin's soul he hadn't even realized had been broken.

Before he could lose his courage, Kevin nodded at Mafala, and then buried his face in the crook of Connor's warm neck.

Connor looked up as Mafala cleared his throat, and forced himself to stay silent as the older man started speaking, finally sharing the story he'd wanted to tell since Gostwana had come to him after Elder Price and Elder Cunningham had driven away the General. He told it as best he could, trying to be respectful of the injured man curled around Elder McKinley. But there was no point diminishing the atrocity of the act for the sake of Elder Price; he likely relived it every day in his dreams. As he spoke, Mafala watched as Elder McKinley's arms tightened around Elder Price, holding him closer, trying to offer what little comfort he could for his friend.

Once Mafala had finished, a heavy silence permeated the room. Connor felt sick and desperately fought down the bile trying to come up his throat. He felt like he was suffocating, like the room was closing in and like he was living out a nightmare; and if he felt like that, he couldn't even imagine how Kevin must be feeling. He could feel the small shivers running up and down Kevin's body and instinctively tightened his hold around him. Without thinking about it, he leaned in and rested his cheek on sweaty hair, turning his head slightly to kiss Kevin's temple.

Small wonder Kevin was always up and about before any of them. Spooky Mormon hell dreams were probably a blessing compared to what he likely dreamed about nowadays.

"Shh, it's okay Kevin," he murmured.

"It's really, _really_ not," Kevin chuckle, and Connor could hear the tears in his voice.

"You're right. It's not," Connor agreed. He moved his hands so they framed Kevin's face and pulled him away from his hiding place in the crook of his neck. "Look at me," he asked. "Kevin." He waited patiently until brown eyes met his own. "It's not okay, but it will be."

Kevin scoffed. "I don't want your pity."

"And you won't get it. But you will have my support. You'll have my friendship." He looked back at Mafala, who was still sitting on the floor, watching them stoically. "You'll have _our_ support, our friendship, our love. It takes a village," he continued, looking back at Kevin and trying to convey everything he felt: his fear, his determination, his utter belief in Kevin, and himself, and their friends. "It takes a village, and guess what? You have one at your beck and call."

"Connor…" Kevin tried before a soft sob stopped him. He could feel his face crumbling even as tears rolled down his cheeks. "I don't…"

"You're not alone, Kevin Price." Connor leaned forward so his forehead could rest against Kevin's. "You don't have to be Super Mormon."

Kevin let out a startled chuckle at the name. "Good, cause that's Arnold's job, anyway," he grinned, and Connor smiled when he saw it, only now, after seeing the real thing, realizing that he'd only been seeing fake smiles for days.

"Then let's leave that job to Prophet Cunningham," Connor agreed.

Kevin nodded and sniffed, pulling back from Connor to wipe his hands over his face. He scrunched up his nose in disgust. "I need to get cleaned up."

"You may use the washroom at the end of the hall," Mafala instructed him, pointing towards to the back of the small house.

"Thanks," Kevin nodded. Slowly he got off the couch and shuffled towards where Mafala had pointed.

Connor waited until he heard the sound of splashing water and turned to face Mafala. He watched the older man silently for a few seconds before smiling softly.

"Thank you."

Mafala nodded. "I only wish I could have done something sooner."

"I'm glad you didn't," Connor said. "I don't think he would have taken it very well."

"Yes. Elder Price is a very strong willed and stubborn man. It is not likely he would have accepted any form of help before now," Mafala agreed, and Connor could hear in his voice how fond the man was of Kevin. "But I forget my manners. Would you like some water, Elder McKinley?"

It was only at these words that Connor remembered how thirsty he had been upon arriving at Mafala's house, and he nodded eagerly. Mafala handed him a cup just as Kevin re-emerged, and Connor automatically offered it to him. Kevin paused a few feet from him, his teeth worrying his lips as he nervously watched Mafala filling up another glass. Before he could change his mind, he quickly made his way back to the couch and took the offered cup, sitting back down next to Connor.

"Thank you, Mafala. I…" Kevin paused, not quite sure what he wanted to say. He shook his head and quirked his lips slightly. "Thank you."

Mafala inclined his head as he approached them and handed the second cup to Connor. He sat back down on the floor, legs crossed and back straight, looking as regal as if he were sitting upon a throne. Kevin blinked and he could feel his world shifting around him. It wasn't until just then, until he'd seen Mafala in his own home, in his element, speaking to him and treating him as if he were a member of his tribe, that he'd finally understood. It wasn't until just then that he'd realized how commanding and comforting the man's presence was, and Kevin felt grateful and safer knowing he had him in his corner.

"You mean a lot to us, Elder Price," Mafala said, pulling Kevin's attention back from where he'd let it wander.

"Me?" he questioned, confused at the praise.

"Yes, you and Elder Cunningham both," Mafala confirmed. "The two of you… How is it that you put it? Ah. You did something incredible, here," he smiled. "You brought us hope. You chased away our tormentor at great personal risk. We owe you much."

Kevin blushed and stared down at his hands, shaking his head slightly. Before he could say anything, Connor's fingers entwined the ones not holding the cup and squeezed them tightly. He looked back up and watched as a smile pulled at Connor's lips, making his face softer. Seeing that expression trained on him gave Kevin butterflies in his stomach. He gathered up the tattered pieces of his courage and with a deep breath, turned back to Mafala, his grip on Connor's hand tightening.

"We want to go into the General's camp."

Mafala stared at him blankly. Connor sighed.

"Okay, fine," Kevin griped at Connor. " _I_ want to go back into the General's camp."

"And why would you want to do something as foolish as _that_?" Mafala asked, completely bewildered.

"Because he has something of mine, and I want it back." Mafala blinked at him and his face contorted into a strange expression. It took Kevin a few seconds before he understood what it was the other man might be thinking. "No, no," he cut in before Mafala could say anything. "My luggage. _Our_ _stuff_ ," he amended. "He took all of our bags when we first got here. Every single one of us had everything taken away from us. I want them back. I want them _all_ back."

"Elder Price," Mafala said slowly, drawing out his name.

"I know what you're thinking," Kevin interrupted him. "Anything you say, Connor's already said it last night." Mafala looked toward him and Connor shrugged. "It's dangerous, and not worth it, and it could get us killed. Or worse," Kevin added the last as an afterthought. "But the truth is that you're wrong. You're both wrong. It _is_ worth it."

"Why?" Connor asked. "Kevin, how can _stuff_ be more important than your life?"

"Because it's not about the stuff, Connor!" Kevin erupted, sick and tired and needing Connor to understand this so _desperately_ , that he didn't even know where to start. "It's about… It's…." Kevin faltered.

"It's about not letting him win," Mafala finished for him.

Kevin looked at him then, biting his lip. "Yes… But it's also about more than that." He paused for a moment, trying to calm his thoughts so he could think coherently and put his jumbled emotions into words. He let his head hang between his knees and wracked his fingers through his hair, disheveling it and letting it stand up on end. "Letting him keep the stuff is letting him have control over us. It's about power, Connor. It's about letting a crazy dictator tell us what we can and can't do, have, or keep with us. It's…" Kevin took a deep breath and straightened back up to face Connor. "It's about not letting a mad man take away the things that make us who we are, and fighting back for what we believe. It's about taking back our home, Connor. It's about getting my home back. And I _need_ _it_ ," Kevin begged.

Connor listened to Kevin silently. He watched as Kevin's brown eyes slowly regained a fire and passion that Connor hadn't even noticed had been missing these last few days. Listening to him now, Connor could see the prophet Kevin could have been, the leader he could still become. But that didn't mean he would follow Kevin into his follies.

"Kevin," Connor hesitated.

"As much as it pains me to say this, Elder Price," Mafala interrupted them. "It would be unwise for you to return there now. Even with the General currently gone, it is not safe for you to wander into the camp."

"But…"

"Kevin, please. I… I think I get it. I mean, not entirely, no. But I understand why you think you need to do this. I just don't want you getting hurt again," Connor pleaded, squeezing Kevin's hand.

"Elder Price, I would ask that you be patient a little longer," Mafala asked. "I understand the importance of this task, and I promise you that as soon as it is feasible, I will see to it personally. But right now, today, it is not that day. It is too dangerous and foolish, and I would not send the bravest of men into that camp."

Kevin watched Mafala for a long moment, brown eyes narrowed in suspicion before he nodded slowly. Connor let out a relieved sigh at this and automatically squeezed Kevin's hand once more. Kevin slumped back into the seat and let his head hang off the back of the couch so he could stare at the ceiling. He was so tired. Slowly, without meaning to, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Kevin startled awake, one moment fast asleep and the next gasping and scrambling upright in such a flurry and fumble of limbs that he suddenly found himself laying half on the floor and half on wherever it was he'd been sleeping on. His loud panting breaths echoed eerily in his ears as he stared blankly at the cracked ceiling, waiting for his heart to calm down and his goosebumps to subside. He'd been dreaming again, of the General and the hands that had grabbed him and held him down, of the nails that had dug into his flesh as his pants had been ripped down his legs and The Book— _No_.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly until his vision was nothing more than bright flashes of multicolored lights against a black backdrop. _Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it._ Easier said than done, but at least he was awake now. He had more control of his thoughts. He viciously shoved the dream-memory into a tiny box in his brain and pushed it to the very back of his mind. Slowly he blinked his eyes open and waited for his vision to clear before he pushed himself up onto his elbows so he could take a look at his surroundings.

He was still in Mafala's living room. He'd been on the old, decrepit couch, his face likely smashed into the cushions. He didn't remember falling asleep but it hardly surprised him. He was always so tired lately, so sleep deprived, that he tended to cat nap almost anywhere. It was just another reason, amongst many, as to why he never wandered far from the house anymore. With a soft sigh he swung his legs off the couch and flipped over so he could sit with his back against it. A quick glance across the room confirmed he was alone and, based on the slanted sunlight coming in through the window, it was probably sometime after lunch. Kevin watched the dust swirling around the air for a few more silent minutes, marveling at the sense of peace settling around and within him despite his dream.

A noise from the door pulled his attention back to the present and he watched silently as the front door swung open and Connor tiptoed into the house, softly closing the door behind him. The redhead turned around and stopped in his tracks when he saw Kevin looking at him from the floor.

"Oh, hey. You're awake."

"How long have I been sleeping?"

Connor shrugged. "A few hours? It's a little after lunch time now, but Mafala set aside some food for you if you're hungry."

He wasn't, he never really was anymore, but Kevin knew he needed to eat so he just did it without really taking any pleasure in the act. Instead of answering, he made a noncommittal noise and pushed himself off the floor. Connor took in his every move, from his trembling arms to his labored breathing, and he frowned at the picture it all painted.

"Did you have another nightmare?"

Kevin paused for a fraction of a second at the question, glancing up but quickly averting his eyes back to the floor, before he slicked his hair back and straightened out his shirt. Connor's frown deepened at the gestures.

"It's fine," Kevin replied.

"Kevin," Connor began, taking three long strides to come face to face with the taller man. "It's not fine." When Kevin looked up, brown eyes warring between defiance and resignation, Connor cupped his cheeks between his hands and leaned forward so their foreheads were touching. "It's not fine, but it will be. You have to believe that. I'm here for you. We're _all_ here for you. All you gotta do is ask."

Kevin could feel a flush spreading up from his neck and tears prickling in his eyes even as he swallowed around what felt like a rock that'd suddenly become lodged in his throat.

"I don't…" he rasped out, pausing to clear his throat. "I don't think I know _how_ to ask," he confessed.

Connor smiled sadly. "That's okay. We'll figure it out together, then," he assured the other man. Kevin nodded slowly, a small, genuine smile playing at his lips. "Now come on, I want to show you something," Connor said as he grabbed Kevin's hand and pulled him toward the front door.

Kevin glanced down at their joined hands and felt his smile soften. In the last few hours he'd let Connor touch him more than he'd allowed anyone else in his life besides his parents. It wasn't that he disliked being touched per se; it's just that when you were the middle child in a family of five kids, you became very conscious and proprietary of your personal space. Only a handful of people could touch him without Kevin being intimately aware of how close they were, how long they'd touch him, and how rudely he would have to shove them away. His parents and his older sister were the only ones from home, and Arnold had, unsurprisingly, carved out his own Arnold-shaped space in Kevin's personal bubble. And apparently, without him even noticing, Connor had too.

As Kevin let Connor pull him to the door and out of the small house, he was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. He blinked rapidly as his eyesight slowly adjusted and then blinked some more in confusion. He looked sideways at Connor, who was now grinning at the scene before them like a proud parent on graduation day. He turned back and took in the eight Elders sitting on the hot, cracked earth as each looked through eight opened suitcases. Every single one of them was chattering excitedly as each pulled out one trinket or another from within the folds of white neat shirts and black crisped pants. And off to the side, slightly away from the other Elders, sat one black unopened suitcase.

Kevin glanced back at Connor. "I don't… What?"

Connor shrugged. "Trust me, this was not my doing."

"Oh, I believe that," Kevin interrupted and couldn't help the indignant yelp when Connor flicked his ear.

"Oh hush," Connor admonished. "This is Mafala's doing. After you fell asleep, he asked me to watch over you and left the house. He didn't return until a little before lunch time, and when he did, he brought me out here and asked me if these were all the suitcases. I'm pretty sure I made the same face you just did, too." Connor grinned at the memory.

"I can't believe it," Kevin whispered, astonished at the sight.

"Yeah. I went back to the mission house and brought all the Elders here so they could double check their things. So far it seems like our stuff was left alone and everyone's things are accounted for."

"Kevin!" Arnold's voice sounded above the din of excited babble. "Bestie! Look!" Kevin looked over and saw Arnold waving around a DVD case, Nabulungi at his side. "Now I can make you watch the Star Wars trilogy! I can finally educate you!"

Kevin let out a small, lighthearted laugh and smiled. The gesture felt strange, and soon it faded away, to be replaced by something more subdued but no less content. "Sure, buddy," he called back.

"Come on, then," Connor said as he stepped forward and dragged Kevin along with him toward the lone suitcase. "Let's check out your suitcase."

As they neared his suitcase, Kevin could feel himself becoming jittery. It was so silly, to get nervous at the sight of a suitcase, but he couldn't help himself. He could hardly believe that this was happening. He'd only last night had the thought to try and get his things back; he hadn't actually thought he'd get them back this fast or without having to step into that gosh darn camp. As they stopped in front of it, Kevin noticed that Mafala was standing beside the suitcase, watching him with that inscrutable look in his eyes.

"Elder Price," he greeted him.

"I thought you said we shouldn't go into the camp now, that it was too dangerous," Kevin knew he was being rude, but he couldn't decide if he was angry or grateful to Mafala.

"Ah," Mafala shrugged, pretending to be abashed. Kevin could tell he didn't feel anything but maybe pride and satisfaction. "I am afraid you misunderstood me. I meant that it was not safe for _you_ , specifically, to go into the camp. I did not mean it was too dangerous for _me_ to go there. And so, I did. Along with a few others," he gestured to the side toward Gotswana, Matombo, Kali, and Kimbe who all smiled at him when he looked over at them.

Kevin could feel a blush staining his cheeks at the incredible gesture these people had made for him and the other Elders.

"Thank you," he whispered around the feelings in his throat.

"No, Elder Price. Thank you," Mafala inclined his head. "Without you and Elder Cunningham… You have given us much. This is but a small token of our gratitude."

"I don't think…" Kevin started but stopped, not sure if he wanted to voice the thoughts aloud, acknowledge the demons he had pushed aside to deal with on a later date. A small squeeze of his hand reminded him that Connor was still there, their finger entwined, like a promise: _You're not alone. I'm here. We're here. We'll get through this. All you have to do is ask._

Kevin took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and swallowed his pride. "I don't think I would have been able to walk into that camp to get this back. Not now, and maybe not ever." He paused to make sure Mafala fully comprehended what he was saying, what he was offering, what he was admitting. "So, thank you." Kevin turned to the other four people standing further away. "Thank you all for this," he gestured toward the other Elders.

The Ugandans inclined their heads and Mafala smiled. "You are welcome, Elder Price."

Kevin returned the nod and turned back toward his suitcase, smiling.

"So," Connor said as he sat down on the cracked earth, pulling Kevin with him, their hands still clasped together. "Am I finally going to see what it is that the great Elder Price brought with him from home?"

Kevin laughed. "Sure. I hope you're ready for this."

Eagerly, like a kid on Christmas Day ripping open a present, Kevin unzipped his suitcase and plopped it open. Everything was still packed just as he remembered: clean and pressed white shirts, creased black pants, several copies of The Book, a small toiletry bag. He rummaged underneath these things, hands digging through socks, and Mormon underwear, and clandestine briefs until he felt the edges of his binder. With a small shout of triumph, he grabbed the binder's spine and pulled it out, laying it on his lap. Connor crowded over him to get a better look at it and Kevin felt a small shiver running down his back that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with something else entirely. _Not yet. I can't do this yet, but maybe soon. For now, this is enough._

"What is it?" Connor asked, intrigued. He reached over and lifted the binder from Kevin's lap, opening it and browsing through it. "Kevin, these are recipes." Kevin made a small noise of agreement. "Oooh," Connor gushed as he stopped at a particular page. "Butter pecan pancakes with lemon blueberry syrup. That sounds amazing."

"Yeah," Kevin smiled. "That dish was particularly tricky to balance out the sweetness. The lemon zest really did the trick."

Connor slowly turned around to look at him, blue eyes wide. "You… You made these dishes? Like, you came up with them?"

"Not all of them," Kevin corrected. "Some of them are my mom's or my grandmother's recipes. But most of them are mine, or at least these are my favorite ones."

"Kevin Price!" Connor exclaimed, startling Kevin. "You're a cook!"

Kevin blinked, surprised at the exclamation. "What? The last few days didn't clue you in?"

Connor froze and gaped at him. He could feel his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He really should have realized this sooner. After all, for the last few days the Elders had eaten better than they'd ever eaten before, and it was all because Kevin had been cooking for them. Well, in his defense, Connor had never actually _seen_ Kevin cook. He'd only ever seen the table set with one amazingly delicious dish after another. To be completely honest, he'd assumed Kevin had gotten the dishes from someone in the village. But, now that he thought about it, that had been a mind-blowingly stupid assumption; Kevin had only left the house once to go see Nabulungi, and that night Elder Church had been in charge of the food, and it had been the usual bland and boring affair.

"I supposed it should have," Connor conceded.

"Bestie, whatcha got there?" Arnold asked as he came out of nowhere and took the binder from Connor's hands. "Oh wow, look at some of these recipes! What's a mole sauce? Oh, country fried chicken with fried green tomatoes. Chocolate cake! Kevin, can you make all of these?" Arnold asked, practically vibrating in his excitement.

Kevin shrugged. "Sure. But I'd need the ingredients and I don't know how likely I am to find them here."

"Neosporin!"

"Nabalungi," Kevin corrected automatically.

Arnold thoroughly ignored him. "What are the chances we could find these ingredients here?" Arnold asked Nabalungi as she approached them.

Kimbe scoffed at the question and took the binder from Arnold's hands. The bigger man started to protest but stopped in his track at her sigh of her glare. She flipped through the pages and grunted in dissatisfaction.

"These are all American shit recipes," she declared.

Kevin shrugged. "They're not shit, but yeah, they're all American recipes."

"You won't be able to cook none of these here, Elder Price," she said as she snapped the binder shut.

Kevin shrugged again. "I didn't think I would. It was more about…" he trailed off momentarily, embarrassed. Again, he felt Connor's hand squeeze his and he reciprocated the gesture; it was a thank you, an acknowledgement, a sign of support. "I've been cooking with my mother almost every day since I was a toddler. She taught me everything I know. The binder is… It's a way to keep her close to me. It's home."

Kimbe watched him silently before she opened the binder again and flipped through the pages some more. She paused at one page and stared at it blankly, her mind clearly not paying attention to what it was seeing.

"Come by my house tomorrow," she said, closing the binder more gently this time and tucking it under her arm. "You'll get this back then."

"But…" Kevin started to protest but stopped when she glared at him.

"You are in Uganda now, Elder. You won't find half of the ingredients you need for these recipes, especially seeing as I don't know what half of them are. What the hell is a paprika?" she huffed, exasperated. "It's time you learned some Ugandan recipes," she stated, nodding to herself.

Kevin couldn't help the elated feeling that came over him. "Well, if you insist," he replied, smiling like a loon.

"Good." She then turned to look at Arnold, who all but shrank back into Nabulungi. "Now, Elder Cunningham, I believe it's time for you to teach us another verse."

"Oh… Well, I was hoping we could postpone that so I could go back to the house and make Kevin watch Star Wars," Arnold said sadly as he looked between the DVD clutched in his hands and Kevin.

"We can watch it tonight, Buddy. I haven't gotten to hear any of your… verses yet," Kevin said, his smile still firmly in place.

"Oh! Well, in that case, I have a great one for you! Come on!" Arnold exclaimed as he turned and trotted off toward the village square, Nabulungi and most of the other villagers following him.

Kevin watched as the other Elders zipped up their suitcases and rolled them along with them as they followed the rest of the villagers, every single one of them chatting excitedly about whatever trinket it was they had gotten back. Kevin looked down at his own opened suitcase and felt his smile slowly fade away. He knew he'd get his binder back tomorrow, Kimbe was a woman of her word, but he wished he had it now so he could look through some of the recipes and take comfort in the memories.

He blinked when he felt his hand being squeezed and looked over at Connor, who was still sitting beside him on the cracked, dry earth. Connor smiled at him and pulled him up to his feet. He then crouched back down and zipped up Kevin's suitcase and took hold of the handle with one hand and Kevin's hand with his other.

"Come on, Kevin. You don't want to miss this. Arnold in his element is a thing of wonder."

Kevin squeezed back the hand holding his and allowed the sense of peace and belonging to fill him from the inside out.

"Well then, lead the way, Elder McKinley."

Connor laughed and started toward the village square, pulling a grinning Kevin along with him. Things weren't perfect, and Kevin was sure that tonight he would probably wake up from a nightmare that would have his heart racing and his body trembling, but it felt different now; he felt different. Kevin knew that he had not only a whole village to lean on, but also Arnold, the other Elders, and Connor, who, he knew without a doubt, would never let him fall. And for right now, today, that was enough.


End file.
